EXT. CARNEGIE LIBRARY PARKING LOT, MITCHELL —MORNING, SEPT. 28
Rows of classic cars in every shade of vibrant color, many with their hoods open like kids waiting for a doctor to peer inside their throat, sit lined up in parking lot outside the Carnegie Library. The library is situated at the corner of 8th and Main Street, marking one end of the festival’s territory, and the swings swirl just outside the opposite end of the building from the parking lot.
Dozens of people walk between the cars. Some of them admire, others judge. Sun glints off the candy-colored metal and bedazzles the air where a ghostly presence appears under the hood of an old Chevy hotrod.
The ghostly face that peers from beneath the hood for a moment belongs to none other than the infamous SAM BASS, an old train robber from out west who has returned to trade in his getaway carriage for a real rubber-burning set of wheels. His translucent hand condenses above the engine block to work a spectral wrench.
SAM BASS
Son of a bitch! You better run, or I’ll run you into
the ground, you piece of shit machine, you go to hell
with all that shit…son of a motherfucking bitch…
Rod, concerned, appears beside the car.
ROD
Now, Sam, you know this is a family event.
Rod turns apologetically to you, the apprehensive reader.
ROD (CONT’D)
After all, the Carnegie Car Show
has been a part of the Persimmon Fest
since old man Burton rolled the best cars off
his auto-lot at the corner of Teke and Main,
and sold them all on that same Saturday
of the parade…
Sam Bass, whooping behind Rod, tosses his translucent wrench away. Ghastly sirens sound somewhere in the forbidden distance, and Sam Bass smiles.
SAM BASS
Good God! I’ll be right damned if it ain’t a miracle.
The son of a bitch is good to go, and here comes cops!
But they won’t catch old Sam Bass — he’s a slimy fish!
Sam Bass slides through the car and settles in the driver’s seat. He turns an unseen ectoplasmic key, and the car comes to life with an otherworldly roar.
Rod, who was already startled, jumps back as the ghost-car separates from its true-to-life other and, tossing up whirls of smoke, slides onto the street. Phantasmic cop cars appear just as Sam Bass ramps the railroad tracks. The cop cars flash red, white, and blue. They give chase, turning the car show into a dust-filled jungle and obscuring everything.
When the dust finally settles, Rod, Sam Bass, and the ghostly police are gone. Rich stands where Rod once stood, holding his phone and looking around at the cars. Rod’s disembodied voice floats down to set the scene.
ROD
And now, you’ve been invited to witness how
electronic winds of fate can change,
imperceptibly, from zero to one.
A girl with a notepad, CAR SHOW GIRL, walks up to Rich. She hands him a slip of paper and a small pencil.
CAR SHOW GIRL
(bubblingly bashful)
If you want to vote, now is the time.
RICH
(turning from his phone,
taking the pencil and
the slip of paper)
Thanks…
Car Show Girl walks away, and Rich turns back to his phone.
RICH
Hey, R.J., who do you think we should pick?
Rich holds his phone up so that R.J. can presumably see the cars. He lingers for a moment on his parents, who are showing an old truck in the next row. The truck is a forest-green and rounded relic from bygone days with Spring Mill, the name of a nearby state park, painted in bold letters on the side. You might guess that the truck was worth more than their house, that it has been in the family forever, that Rich helped his dad fix it up over years of piecemeal labor — and you might be right, judging by how happy Rich seems and how much his parents appear to be enjoying themselves.
Rich pulls his phone down after a moment, bringing himself face to face with R.J.’s floating image.
RICH
I guess there’s only one real choice, but still
I want to be fair, you know?
R.J. (I.P.)
(joking stiffly)
Yeah, but if
you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying.
You’ll be fine —
Something almost unidentifiable happens to the Hereafter app in Rich’s phone— a flicker, a glitch. It makes Rich squint. And R.J. seems ever so slightly different.
R.J. (I.P.)
Don’t listen to it, Rich.
This me isn’t me! Run number one, remember?
Rich’s phone suddenly explodes, as if it was shot. Rich drops it, waving his burnt hand, and yells. The shock of it is too much, and Rich is silent for a moment. His parents, concerned and confused, watch him from across the way. When he can move again, he leans down towards the phone, picks it up, and looks into the cracked screen.
RICH
(panicked)
R.J.? R.J.? Hey! Are you OK?
CUT TO:
